Gestures
by KnightedRogue
Summary: Han's made quite the impressive gesture, if he says so himself.
1. Gesture

**Rated for language and eventual sexual content in chapters two and three.**

* * *

Leia Organa heard him enter her quarters aboard Home One and instinctively glanced at her bedroom door. Han was the only person with direct access to her quarters and she was happy to hear him using it. Good things happened when he showed up to her bedroom unannounced.

Or they usually did. Tonight, however, Leia was attending a formal event for the nominal Mid-Rim ambassadors, a long-overdue dinner to which she had furiously argued not to be assigned. Tonight was also Han's last night in the Endor system before his next assignment near Thyferra. And ambassadorial dinners did not typify brevity. She was looking at a long, boring night of politics when all she really wanted to do was grab a quick dinner and soak up as much of Han's time and attention as she could before his departure.

She exhaled and finished her hair. She'd braided it into a loose crown to keep it out of her way tonight. She wasn't interested in attracting anyone's attention other than the man she desperately hoped would wait for her here. Her hair was not particularly spellbinding, her dress was a bland navy blue silk with a high neckline (although she quite admired the open back), and she hadn't spent much time on her make-up at all.

Leia was more interested in what she wore beneath the dress. And she was fairly certain Han would be, too. Once she managed to escape the dinner, that is.

"I was thinking," Han said, his voice echoing throughout her quarters. She liked the way he just walked into her living space and didn't bother with a greeting. She loved the familiarity it implied. "I think I found a way to send you messages from the Falcon without the brass seeing it."

Leia shook her head. "You are the brass, General," she reminded him.

A pause.

"Damn," he said, loud enough for her to hear. She smiled as he continued. "That's depressing."

She laughed. "And what kind of message are you sending that you don't want the rest of the brass to see?"

"Dirty ones," he said. He sounded completely unselfconscious about it. She didn't doubt his honesty. "Lots of inappropriate things in them. Dodonna'd have a fit."

"I'm sure he would," she said, adding the final layer of lipcolor. "I'm surprised you'd even bother hiding them."

Leia marveled at herself, speaking with Han so frankly about sex. It wasn't long ago - less than a year, she thought - when she'd been nervous around him on Hoth. He'd exuded a magnetism that made her simultaneously want and fear him. At the time, she'd believed he had an unfocused field of attraction. He'd draw anyone into himself; it didn't matter which gender, or species, or type. Everyone wanted Han Solo. He was like a planet inexorably pulling moons into orbit around himself.

Leia hadn't been intimidated by him, per se. She'd been wary. She'd witnessed firsthand what happened to women who let their infatuations flare for Han. And she hadn't believed she had the emotional strength to deal with such cool indifference.

It'd taken her a very long time to realize that while it was true most beings naturally gravitated toward him, Han's magnetic field was aimed squarely at her. Just her, only her, to the exclusion of everyone else. Not like the gravitas of a planet, more like the pull of a tractor beam. So while she'd felt that agonizing draw to him, not everyone else had. He was gorgeous, of course, and that was probably what made everyone move to him. But the way he looked at her, the way he forced her reactions, the way he stepped into her personal space and refused to be intimidated by her? He hadn't expelled that much energy on anyone else and she was only now starting to see that.

Her comfort with him now was novel but not surprising. Finally caught in orbit around him, it seemed only natural to lean into his somewhat lax interpretation of discretion.

"I don't mind people knowing that I'm sending you all sorts of messages," Han replied. "I mind them reading them."

She had an image of quietly disapproving Jan Dodonna reading a message consisting largely of the words wet, hard and fuck and grimaced. "Ugh."

"Yeah," he replied. "Not a pleasant thought."

"No," she agreed. She stood to look herself up and down in the small mirror. "I'm going to try to make this quick," she said, moving. She gathered her shawl from the bed and slipped her heels on. "Very quick," she emphasized as she walked through the rest of her quarters. "Two hours, maybe three. Do you want me to comm you when I get back or - "

She stopped dead in her tracks. Han Solo was standing in the living space of her small quarters, dressed in full military dress uniform, hands shoved in his pockets. She swallowed and raked her eyes over him. Always a cut figure, the hard lines of his torso were edged in black piping, drawing her eyes to his long legs and polished boots. His pants still held the Corellian Bloodstripes, she noticed, but the obligatory DL-44 was conspicuously absent. His hair was thankfully still a mess and his eyes were playful when she met them. "If this is gonna take three hours you might have to comm me. I'll be hiding behind the bar after one."

Leia blinked. "Who the hell gave you a dress uniform?" Her voice sounded indignant but she felt a little punch-drunk. Her thoughts were a fast blur of sex and love and it made her feel lightheaded.

He smirked. "The same morons who gave me a commission."

She tried valiantly to close her mouth. She really did. But he was doing something to her brain: he was, or the uniform. At this rate she wasn't sure which to blame. All she knew is that she'd never seen anything sexier in her life than the dashing figure of General Solo in a dress uniform.

His smirk grew as the seconds ticked by without an answer. Finally he threw his head back and outright laughed at her. "I swear, I had no idea dressing up a bit would render you speechless."

She pursed her lips. "Neither did I." she said, and moved to him. "If you were smart you would have tried this long before now."

"No kidding," he said, reaching out to grip her hips. "You alright there, Organa?"

"Working on it," she muttered as she stood flush with him, at eye level with his chin. She ran an index finger down the edge of his lapel, the rough cloth a stunning counterpart to the calluses on his hand as it smoothed over her jaw. "Please tell me this isn't a ploy to tease me while I go do important things."

He shook his head, amusement still clear in his eyes. "I'm not that cruel."

The words were cocky but he said it with pure benevolence. "You realize what you're about to do?" she asked.

She was pretty sure he understood. Offering to escort her to a public dinner in service to the New Republic (in full dress uniform, no less) took a broad legitimizing step toward official recognition of their relationship. No matter what they said from here on out, if he was on her arm tonight, they would call him her consort. That would be the word they'd use. Consort. Never mind that she wasn't a princess any longer, or that the system that would have made him a consort was long gone, or that his military rank would have granted him his own invitation to this dinner had he requested it.

In the eyes of the galaxy she was a princess. And if she took his arm tonight he would be her consort.

"We're going to this dinner together," he said. "And then afterwards we're going to come back here and build up some vocabulary for those messages."

She rested her palms flat on his chest. "That is a given," she said. "But I meant the part about going to dinner together."

"Hmm," he rumbled. They were standing so close to each other that she could feel the sound deep in her chest. Her stomach flipped. "You look a little spooked there, Highness."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Not spooked. Confused."

"About what?"

She pursed her lips and focused on the way his thumbs were caressing the silk at her hips. "Escorting me to a state dinner is fairly big-league behavior, General."

"Big-league," he repeated, grinning. Then he turned nonchalant. "You have to go to this shindig tonight and I have to leave tomorrow. You can't come with me tomorrow, so I'll go with you tonight. Simple."

Simple. She watched his eyes. They were clear, without guile or reservation. Which blew her mind because what he was saying was not simple. "You'd be escorting me. In public."

"Yeah," he said.

"You'd have to talk to people."

"Yeah."

She leaned away from him and raised an eyebrow. "Why are you doing this?"

She didn't mean to sound suspicious. And she didn't mean to imply that he had an ulterior motive. But their relationship wasn't official knowledge yet. It'd been fodder for gossip since Hoth, of course, and they'd never gone out of their way to hide it. She spent nights on the Falcon with him and he slept here in her cabin with her. They weren't particularly shy about affection, though neither of them had an exhibitionist streak. They'd even submitted a conflict of interest statement shortly after the Battle of Endor. Anyone with eyes or ears would know what was going on between them.

But that was a far cry from dragging him into her world.

"Leia," he said, and she knew she was done. His voice dropped in timbre, falling into a deep register that played over her body like music. "We're going to the damn dinner. And you're going to stop worrying about what will turn me off of you."

Her mouth dropped and she shook her head. "That's not what I meant - "

"Sure it is," he answered, squeezing her hips. "And it's ridiculous because you know I'd tell you if I didn't want to do something."

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on his shoulder. Of course she knew that. Logically, she knew it. But logic and fear were near polar opposites of each other. And she hadn't actually realized she'd been worried about it at all.

She considered his words. Over the past few months she'd been tiptoeing around her fear that Han would come to his senses and leave her. Not from any inferiority complex. She knew better than to think so little of Han or herself. But ignoring her fear that he'd hate this vast new world that he would eventually have to join? Dinners? Receptions? Ceremonies?

Yes. She'd been avoiding that fear.

She lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes still seemed clear. She felt reassured despite herself. "You're telling me you want to attend a formal dinner?"

He made a face and slid his hands to the small of her back. His fingers now touched bare skin and Leia felt heat tear up her spine. "Want is not the word I'd use. I want you. I will tolerate this dinner."

I want you. Such beautiful words, spoken so plainly. "Well, General," she said, rising up on her toes to reach his lips. Her hands slid under the heavy lining of his jacket. "I want to get you good and ready for those messages you promised." She kissed him softly, lightly, teasing. "Let's go to dinner so that we can leave."


	2. Play

_I am the epitome of "sorry/not sorry" about the indulgence of this chapter. :)_

* * *

"Leia!" Ambassador Tinn said, enthusiastic and loud. "I am so glad you were able to attend tonight."

Leia smiled, feeling flushed and transparent as Han's hand splayed protectively on her lower back. The heat of his fingertips seemed to bleed into her lower abdomen. What a mistake, this low-backed dress! She knew what Han's hands were capable of doing to her. "Good evening, Alani," she said. "The hall looks incredible."

The two women looked up at the aureate ceiling, gilded sometime in the past three days. It seemed the planning committee for this event had spared no expense. Soft lights highlighted the most opulent features of the hall: enormous pillars, rare artwork, the ridiculous faux-marble beneath their feet. If she hadn't known better she would have sworn she was on Coruscant and not in a mess hall on a Mon Calamari battle cruiser.

A younger Leia might have considered the sheer extravagance of the decor beautiful. But now _beautiful_ had a more ephemeral meaning to her. Survival was beautiful. Victory was beautiful.

Expense for the sake of expense? Not beautiful.

Clearly the ambassador hadn't been similarly affected by the events of the last five years. "It truly does! I had no idea we could transform this ship into something so _palatial."_

Her tone made it all too apparent the ambassador meant that as a compliment. The fingers at her back spasmed, then resumed their slow caress. Leia leaned into Han's hand. "Indeed," she said, then turned her head slightly to indicate the man at her side. "Ambassador, may I introduce General Han Solo of Fleet Command? Han, this is Alani Tinn, New Republic Ambassador to Karin."

Leia felt Han nod beside her. "Ma'am," he said. His voice, so close to her ear, felt dark with promise. She tamped down her instinct to shiver. Part of her wanted him to take his hand away from her back. Another part, a much larger part, wanted to solder it to her skin.

"General Solo! A pleasure!" Tinn chittered. "Your endeavors are well known to us all, of course. What an honor to meet an actual war hero tonight!"

Leia watched Tinn carefully, measuring her honesty under the sensationalist flattery. The woman's eyes were wide, her lips puckered to hollow out her cheeks and emphasize her bone structure. Alani turned her upper body at the waist so her decolletage faced Han, though his eyes were locked on the ambassador's.

 _Utterly transparent,_ Leia thought, amused.

For the first three years of their acquaintance Leia had _carefully_ watched Han's interactions with his many admirers. Of course, if anyone were to ask, Leia would vehemently deny it; such behavior was unbecoming her upbringing. But she hadn't been able to help it. She'd felt like an outsider to her own body, watching herself find excuses to spy on him or his ship. She'd been chary of his advances but intrigued despite herself. It had all manifested in a sense that she needed more information about him in order to react to him accordingly.

And as much as she had intended to watch _him,_ she had also been watching _them_ : the throng of beings that showed interest in Han. Male and female, human and non-human: she'd observed them all. She knew the telltale signs. Ambassador Tinn was certainly attracted to the war hero at Leia's side.

The heat in Leia's stomach flared: a little jealousy, she thought. She could now recognize that feeling after avoiding it for so long. But _oh yes_ there was also a nice, deep burn of validation in her stomach. She wasn't an outsider looking in now. Leia knew how Han looked as he slept beside her. She knew the deep, mumbled incoherence that tumbled from his lips when he was completely overwhelmed. She could testify to the taste of his shoulder in the spray of a shower. Leia was the clear object of Alani's envy: how he acted with her, how she spoke to him, how they touched.

Was it petty of her to feel so proud? Of course. But, _oh god,_ it felt good to know more about the man being admired than the admirer did. It had been a long three years of confused outside observation that had led them here.

Han cleared his throat. "Uh, thanks. Though," he shifted uncomfortably, "there are a few war heroes here tonight."

Leia followed his eyes as they scanned the room.

"Crix Madine's over there," he nodded to the far side of the hall. "I'm sure Ackbar's wandering around. He loves these things for some ungodly reason."

Leia smiled at his word choice.

"Oh," Tinn laughed. "I'm sure they're both perfectly pleasant. But neither of them were around for _both_ Death Stars!"

Han shrugged. "Leia's here, too."

Leia turned her smile to him and stepped further into his side, flattered. "So kind of you to notice," she said, then turned back to Ambassador Tinn. "Believe me, this is false modesty from the general. Were we in a more casual setting he would gladly tell you war stories for hours."

Han scowled playfully at Leia. "It would only take hours if I included Her Worship's contributions."

His tone dripped with irony. Leia felt his fingers press into her lower back but she continued the play. "Rescuing you from your own recklessness certainly _felt_ like a full-time occupation, _General,_ " she said.

In response, his fingers slipped beneath the silk of her dress, just a momentary brush. Swift bursts of electricity ran up her spine, unexpected tendrils of heat that threw Leia into sharp memories of his mouth, his fingers, the way he breathed her name into her ear when he was riding the blurry line between buildup and release. The room felt inexplicably hotter. She closed her eyes, trying to divert the sudden wave of heat. And then, just as suddenly, his fingers rose to the middle of her back, further up than before, their placement totally benign.

Leia caught her breath and blinked at his nonchalant expression. _That was uncalled for._ And then she realized he may not have even realized how intense her reaction had been. The sight of him in the dress uniform, and more broadly his willingness to accompany her tonight, had made her thoughts dip into inappropriateness a number of times already. He may or may not be exploiting that fact. His face gave nothing away.

Ambassador Tinn seemed delightfully unaware of the effect Han was having on Leia. "Oh! Aren't you two adorable! How you talk!"

Leia tilted her head down and Han cleared his throat. "I'll … go get the, uh, drinks?" Han sputtered and dropped his hand from her back.

"Thank you," Leia said as he walked away. She turned back to the ambassador before she had the chance to watch him leave.

But Tinn was eyeing Leia in a knowing manner. "It's wonderful to see you accompanied, my dear. So often you attend our events unescorted."

Leia's nerves grated at the insinuation that she was somehow improved by Han's presence tonight. Particularly because his attendance had been a surprise to her. "Han is leaving in the morning for his next assignment," she replied. "There will be ample opportunity to see me unescorted in the weeks to come."

She hoped her tone conveyed a playful warning to Tinn. She wasn't sure she succeeded.

"Is it serious between the two of you?" Tinn asked. She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. "You _know_ how people talk."

Leia eyed her carefully. "Serious enough," she said. She felt no need to expound on it.

"Oh, _please_ , Leia! You always act so cavalier about everything!" Ambassador Tinn waved a hand in the air. "How are the rest of us to know how to treat him if we don't know anything about your relationship?"

Leia instinctively took a step back, her anger a quick bite to her chest. "You treat him as his rank and actions merit. Why would you think otherwise?"

Perhaps Leia's tone held more heat than she intended. She had no desire to defend Han or herself tonight. She didn't want to talk about their relationship at all, if she could get away with it. What they had was private and none of anyone's business aside from the two of them. She felt fiercely protective of their privacy; if Han was going to make a gesture for her, she would absolutely do the same for him.

Ambassador Tinn's eyes opened wide. "Of course," the ambassador said. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

Leia nodded. "Thank you. Now," she opened her hands wide, "let's discuss Karin."

* * *

Han's brain was repeating the word _adorable_ on a hateful loop as he made his way to the open bar. He scowled as he ordered a whiskey.

All in all he'd expected a lot worse. The uniform was a pain in the ass, of course, and some of these people were so boring he wanted to punch them just to spice them up a bit. But, really, he'd expected that. Despite what Leia seemed to think, he knew full well what had been awaiting him at this dinner. The fact that he'd still shown up to her quarters was a testament to how much he had wanted to do this for her.

The look on her face had been _exactly_ what he'd been aiming for.

Leia wasn't one to get worked up over a little thing like clothing. He knew she loved undoing the thigh tie-down on his holster and pulling him to her by the front of his shirt. But beyond that? The woman wasn't fazed by Empires or Sith Lords. She wasn't exactly the kind of person to fawn all over a uniform.

He looked good, sure. He knew he was objectively attractive. So was Leia. It wasn't difficult for him to clean up.

There was much more to this gesture than simply accompanying her to a dinner. He knew what this uniform really represented to Leia. It screamed _commitment_ in a way he would never be able to.

Han was in critical repair mode, and he knew it. He'd spent three years telling her with every breath and every goddamn word he spoke that he was leaving her. It'd been something of a mantra. His slogan. _I'm in it for the money. I expect to be well paid. If I don't pay off Jabba the Hutt, I'm a dead man._

So this idea of him leaving was branded on Leia like a tattoo. In whatever context: his work with the fleet, his death, whatever. And he could tell she was holding things back from him because of it. Unconsciously, maybe. Little things: dinners and ceremonies and receptions. After the third such misdirect, he'd decided to step in and offer the solution to her problem.

It wasn't that he desperately wanted to attend these stupid events. His preference was Leia, alone. Period. But he wanted her to know that he was in this for the long haul. That hiding things from him wouldn't do any good. He was a smart guy. He'd known what commitment looked like. And he'd gladly gone all in.

So he'd pulled out the dress uniform and made the gesture. And _goddamn_ Leia couldn't keep her hands off him tonight.

He wasn't even sure she knew she'd been doing it. Running a finger up and down the length of his outer thigh. Leaning into his hand on her back. Playing with his fingers. All night long she'd been attentive, talking to him about the other dinner guests, giving him the most ridiculous details about the Provisional Council members that she knew. If he'd thought a formal dinner with Leia was going to be boring as hell, he'd been wonderfully mistaken.

The droid at the bar served him his whiskey but Han wasn't quite ready to rejoin her conversation with the ambassador. He took a sip from his tumbler instead, leaning against the bar and glancing around the crowd. Plenty of male humans: funny how that trend seemed to be harder to break than it should've been. Plenty of older people, too. Older than him, _far_ older than Leia. Plenty of people wearing more credits tonight than he had to his name. Cumulatively.

He searched for Leia. Found her right where he'd left her, gesturing around her to emphasize whatever point she was making. Another human, a man, had joined them and seemed to be absorbed in Leia's little speech. She looked beautiful, of course. He liked her dress tonight, too, with most of her back bare to him. It was convenient access. If she could keep finding excuses to touch him, he was damn well going to do the same to her.

And, really, he _loved_ what he thought she was wearing underneath it all. He'd touched the slightest hint of lace when he'd dipped his fingers into her dress a few minutes ago. Felt expensive, too. Leia in expensive lingerie was certainly a sight to behold. It was good to know she had been anticipating the same kind of late-night send-off that he had been.

"Ah, refuge."

Han turned his head to see a human male settling next to him against the bar. The man was wearing a long, black robe and his thinning hair was slicked back with too much oil. His mustache looked like it was as expensive to keep up as Lando claimed his to be. "I see you've discovered the secret to escorting royalty, General Solo."

Han turned to face the man, still unaccustomed to perfect strangers knowing him on sight. "Alcohol makes a lot of things better," he said, wondering if _escorting royalty_ was a polite euphemism for _fucking royalty._

The man nodded. "Thank the stars this one has an open bar. Hiding a flask in this ensemble is a nightmare."

Han raised his tumbler in salute. "I'll drink to that."

The other man smiled ruefully. "I am Count Vangress, Consort to Prince-Regent Comlin of Andros."

Han nodded and shook Vangress' hand. "Han Solo."

"A pleasure," the count said. "I am already quite bored with this dinner. Are you planning to shoot something soon?"

Han threw him an incredulous look.

Vangress held up his hands. "Your reputation precedes you. I was only hoping for some excitement."

Honestly, Han was a little amused, though the man might have been making a dig at him. "Sorry. I'm on my best behavior tonight." He nodded to the ridiculous gold ceiling. "On a scale of one to five, how awful is this party?"

"One to five?"Vangress kept his smile in place. "General, this gathering does not even register on that scale."

" _Hell,"_ Han swore. "I thought I was doing well for a test flight."

"Ah, take your victories where you find them." Vangress took a long pull of his drink. "You chose well for your _test flight._ Wait until you have to attend a wedding."

Han made a face and tossed back the rest of his whiskey. "I already abandoned my post," he gestured with the tumbler. "Tinny over there called us _adorable_ and I jumped ship."

The count laughed loudly. Two Twi'leks turned to glare at them. "Ambassador _Tinn,_ " he corrected. "And I'm afraid that's the more generous of terms to use."

"Ambassador?"

"Adorable." Vangress corrected. "Tonight makes you legitimate. And you are ripe for gossip."

Han scowled. That was nothing new. People had been gossiping about Leia and him since before they'd been anything to justify the gossip. He freely admitted to fueling the fire at some points, though he regretted that now. The small-time, idle gossip on Echo Base was one thing: galactic renown and the free press was another. All he wanted was to fly his ship and be with his princess in peace. Was that too much to ask? "Does it get any easier?" he asked Vangress.

"Escorting royalty?" the count asked. At Han's nod, Vangress winked. "It did for me. But you're a different case altogether, aren't you?"

Han cocked an eyebrow.

"I am consort to my planet's heir-in-waiting. _Y_ _ou_ are consort to the galaxy's princess," Vangress looked up to the ceiling. "She's a symbol. An icon. You would be hard-pressed to find anyone in the Core that does not know her on sight."

Han grimaced. He didn't like thinking of her like that. He preferred playful, stubborn, whip-smart, sexy Leia. The real Leia. Not the figurehead.

Vangress continued. "You're both well-known celebrities. And then, too, there's a lovely _drama_ to your love story, isn't there?"

Han shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. From what he remembered it had felt a lot more like sexual repression and torturous infatuation than _drama._ He'd spent as much time hating her as he did secretly loving her. Seemed more like a stupid waste of time than drama to him.

"My advice to you, General Solo," Vangress said, "is to not capitulate to the pressure to act _docile._ "

"Docile?" Han laughed and signaled the droid bartender for a refill. "I've never been docile a day in my life."

"This type of life tends to encourage it."

Han stared at Vangress, trying to fathom what the man was telling him. _The pressure to act docile_ sounded like a fake cause of death on a joke post-mortem report. "Look, buddy. I act how I want to act. Nobody tells _me_ what to do."

Vangress arched a brow and turned his head slightly. "You're sure?"

Han followed the count's eyes as they located Leia. A rush of anger swept through Han but he tamped it down. This wasn't a cantina on Nar Shaddaa and he didn't have to justify himself to anyone here. His hopes for a decent conversation with another guest quickly abashed, he turned toward the bar and reached for the new tumbler. "Nope," he said, turning. "You can bet that wherever I am, I'm where _I_ want to be."

"Ah," Vangress murmured. "I see."

"No, probably not," Han quipped. He nodded to the count and made his way back to Leia.

* * *

"Play with me."

Leia jerked in her seat and looked at Han, sitting next to her at the dinner table, the long tablecloth hiding the way his hand slid up her covered thigh. " _What?"_ she hissed.

"Let's play a game," he clarified. "It's called _Who's Fucking Who?"_

She looked around them, noting the dull faces of their dinner companions as they looked to the head table. Mon Mothma was endeavoring to rally the ambassadors, all two hundred in attendance tonight, but the keynote speech was unfortunately placed after dessert had already been served. The hall was full of tired diplomats acting civilly. Leia would guess that half of them were barely listening.

She leaned over to Han. "Whom."

He gave her an odd look.

"' _Who's Fucking_ _Whom_?' Not _who,_ " she clarified. "One is the subject doing the fucking. And the other is the object being fucked."

The look on his face was a hilarious combination of annoyance and outright admiration, as if he couldn't decide whether to be irritated or aroused by her correction. "Fine. _Who's Fucking Whom?_ In the strictest grammatical sense."

She smiled. "Terms?"

Han looked delighted. "If I guess correctly, you _talk_ in bed with me tonight."

That seemed relatively chaste. "That's it?" She'd been expecting something much filthier. Their sexual relationship wasn't necessarily deviant, not in comparison to the wide range of cultures represented here tonight, but they'd been adventurous _enough._ She would have expected some of his typical brand of creativity.

"Hmm." He pretended to consider it. She knew him well enough to know that this was not sincere contemplation. _You have an angle, Solo._ "I think that about does it."

"And what's in it for me?" she asked.

His smile was terribly dark, like she had fallen right into his trap. "Well, _Leia_ ," he pressed his lips against her ear so quickly that she barely felt them before they slid away again. She closed her eyes. The man was smooth, she had to give it to him. "I'm really just trying to fuck you in every conceivable position and on every possible surface of your quarters once we blast out of here. So you tell me. What's in it for you?"

She opened her eyes, a little breathless. " _Every_ position? _Every_ surface?"

He nodded, his eyes deceptively wide and innocent. Leia doubted he'd ever actually been as innocent as he tried to appear.

"Awfully sure of yourself, if you ask me," Leia murmured. "How do I know you'll stick to your end of the bargain?"

He removed his hand from her thigh, leaned back and opened his hands wide. "You don't honestly need another reason. This is _exhausting_ and I'm the sexiest thing in this room. By far."

She rolled her eyes and copied his gesture, hands splayed out in obvious contradiction.

"Well," he amended. "Okay. Maybe it's a tie."

She reached over and pulled his hand back to her leg and pressed his fingertips into her inner thigh. "Okay, Hotshot. Who's up first?"


	3. Power

**At final count there are six thousand words in this chapter and twelve of them are some derivative of _fuck_. **

**... I am so sorry.**

* * *

They left the hall as early as they could without drawing attention to themselves. Han was amazed at the wordless, mutual agreement they seemed to make after the speeches concluded: no small talk, no politicking, nothing more than a few pleasant goodbyes.

The struggle came during the long trek back to Leia's quarters. It was still relatively early and at the very crux of the third shift change. The halls were bustling, pilots stopping mid-stride to salute as they passed. He'd made it clear to his last command that saluting was unacceptable behavior in his book. Perhaps he needed to address this with his new command as well.

After the third interruption Leia leaned over and grabbed the inside of his elbow. "Are they doing this on purpose?"

He blew out his breath. "Probably."

She smiled but slid her hand to his bicep and pressed the length of her body against his side. "I would give anything to hear your first command brief tomorrow morning."

He rolled his eyes.

She continued. "'Welcome to the _Mon Remonda._ I'm Han Solo. Stop fucking saluting me in the halls when I'm clearly trying to get Her Worship to bed.'"

Han laughed and shook his head. "'Stop fucking saluting me in the halls, period.'"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. He always wanted to pin her against a wall when she did that. Tonight the instinct was particularly strong. "As a member of the Provisional Council, I should remind you that that is a serious breach of naval protocol," she said.

"So is trying to get a member of the Provisional Council into bed," he fired back. "This seems like the lesser of two evils."

Two more stops to acknowledge saluting staff and they made it to the turbolift. There was no doubt she'd be able to feel what she was doing to him. At this point "Her Worship" wasn't even an ironic nickname: he'd gladly take to his knees if she asked. He pressed his nose into the braids wound around her head and breathed deeply, trying to distract himself. When that didn't help, he kissed the skin behind her right ear, thinking maybe little hits could take the edge off.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the lift doors opened to her deck. The officer's wing was nearly deserted; he slid his hand across Leia's back, brushing over soft skin and the lower edge of her dress. She closed her eyes briefly and leaned her head on his shoulder. She felt _fantastic,_ like warm water on aching muscle. The same sense of therapy, tucked into his side like she belonged there.

They reached her hatch and got through it in record time. Immediately he turned her around and pushed her up against the closed hatch. She laughed as she crashed into the metal and reached up to grab the sides of his head to kiss him. He groaned into her mouth. The taste of the wine on her tongue was like a sharp note in a bouquet he was determined to fully enjoy. He was lost to her lips, to her tongue, to the feel of her hands in his hair.

"That dinner was _torture,"_ she whispered when he took a breath. He mumbled in reply and kissed her again, running his tongue over hers. She slid her hands to the back of his head, fingers slipping through his hair and pulling gently. He reached down and wrapped her thigh around his, impatiently pushing at the silk of her dress until it hung over her leg like a curtain. He broke their kiss to glance down at the sight.

It took his breath away: something that should look innocent but bowled him over in its deep eroticism. Her bare thigh, pressed against the stiff fabric of his pants, wildly inappropriate behavior for their respective uniforms. His hand kneading her skin, pressing into pale muscle. He glimpsed black lace at the crook of her inner thigh when he bunched the dress up high enough.

She stole the moment and began the long process of loosening the collar of his dress shirt. Her fingers brushed his throat and he swallowed thickly, running his hand up and down her thigh. His body felt electric, like energy crackled just below his skin. Sharper than fire, brilliant and biting.

What had she said? _Anticipation is key?_

Maybe he'd underestimated anticipation a bit. He was so turned on he was having trouble deciding what he wanted to do first.

"You lost our game, Organa," he murmured against the shell of her ear, figuring he might as well fly straight into the sun since she was pulling him in already. "Talk to me."

She got the top of his shirt unclasped and bared his throat. Leaning into him, she pressed her lips to his Adam's apple. His nerves went haywire, fire and electricity racing in a current up and down his spine."I have been wanting to run my tongue over you for hours _,"_ she whispered.

He closed his eyes.

"You don't even know what I was thinking during dinner," she said, mouth trailing down to his collarbone. "I'm not sure you could _handle_ what I was thinking during dinner."

Truly, he wasn't sure, either, but he had a role to play. "Try me."

Her fingers twisted momentarily at the next button and he moved his hand away from her leg. She slid her foot back down to the floor with a click of her shoe and he pressed his hands above her head. Palms flat against the hatch, he tilted his chin down to loom over her. To anyone else, this would look dominating; Han knew appearances were deceiving. One of them had control here and it sure as _fuck_ wasn't him.

"I was thinking," she said, whispering, eyes dark, "that, given half the chance, I would have happily ducked under the table at dinner."

He groaned. This was the problem with urging her to talk dirty to him. She was the master already; he was lost long before she opened her mouth. Inviting that kind of behavior would kill him as surely as a blaster bolt would.

"Could you imagine it?" she asked, another button coming undone. She was halfway down his chest now. "All those people around us. Could you have been quiet enough?"

No.

"Would you have whispered my name?" she asked. She stopped kissing the inside curve of his right pectoral and looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips. He had no hope of responding in words, so he just nodded. "I thought so, too," she said.

She quickly unfastened the rest of his shirt, pulled it from his pants and stood up on tiptoe to kiss his collarbone again. "I love this uniform," she said, pressing her hands to his chest and then slipping her fingers through the open front of his shirt. "I love that you wore it tonight for me."

As her fingers moved from the center of his stomach to his obliques, he swallowed and shook his head. "No good reason to wear it _except_ for you. The thing is ugly as fuck."

She looked up sharply from his chest and narrowed her eyes. "Take that back," she demanded. "You know how good you looked tonight."

He grinned, unapologetic. She sounded like she was mortally and personally offended.

"And don't think I missed you leaning up against the bar and staring at me, either," she continued.

He watched her press her lips against the center of his chest and then look back up at him. He felt branded, as though he'd see the outline of her lips on his chest if he looked down.

Her eyes caught his and he realized he was supposed to be answering her. "Just keeping track of my princess," he said, fingering a loose strand of her hair.

Leia blinked at him. " _Your_ princess?"

Shit. Had he said that out loud? "Yeah?" he said, trying to play it off as a joke. "Why? Are you somebody else's princess?"

She stared at him, big eyes suddenly calculating and sharp. He had the strongest urge to backtrack, because he knew how that had sounded. Of _course_ he didn't own her. Only an idiot would think he could own another person, _especially_ Leia Organa. He'd been thinking about Vangress' words: _the galaxy's princess._ He'd been thinking how this woman here with him wasn't the galaxy's anything. Not right now, at least. She was herself, nothing more or less than that, which was how he'd always wanted her.

Symbols and icons? No. Leia, with hair tumbling down to her shoulders and a private smile in the dim light of her cabin? Yes. She was absolutely _his princess._

She took her hands off his chest and leaned back just a bit. "No," she said, and Han recognized her playful tone. He relaxed and cocked his head to the side. "I am most certainly _not_ anyone else's."

Leia pushed him away from her, softly but with intention, and then followed after him as he took a few steps back. He grinned at her dangerous expression and pulled her with him as he navigated her quarters backwards and by memory. The rooms were dark, only illuminated by the barest glean of emergency lighting near the ensuite fresher. He stretched out to kiss her, craning his neck as he turned the corner to her sleeping quarters. She nipped at his lower lip and gripped his biceps.

The pressure on his arms was suddenly gone and in its stead were the sounds of high-heeled shoes hitting the far corner of the room. He smiled, watching her height disappear, then slid his hands around her hips to palm her ass.

Leia kissed his chest again and tugged at his belt. "I want this off," she murmured. Her head tilted down to watch her fingers slip into the waistband of his dress pants. Han's affectionate smile turned into a smirk as he felt her tug on the closures of the belt and slid his trousers open. She looked back up at him as she reached in and brushed her fingers against his cock.

She winked up at him. Han's chest tightened.

"Eager?" he asked and squeezed her again, trying hard to hide his little jump as he felt her fingers against him.

"Unbelievably so," she said. She reached up with one hand and pulled his head down to hers. He kissed her; her other hand lightly teased him beneath his belt. He stepped closer to her and trapped her hand between them. With one swift back step she broke their kiss and sat on the bunk. He made to follow her, but she pressed her palms to his hips and gave him a warning look. In the bare light of the room she looked absolutely sinful, still fully dressed, hair in serious disarray, clearly focused on the open sides of his belt. She pursed her lips, pulled her hand from his pants and grabbed the backs of his thighs. He followed, obedient, and stood above her knees, wondering how far the princess would take this tonight. "You're supposed to be _talking,_ " he reminded her. "Dunno how you're going to manage that with my cock in your mouth."

She looked up. "This was my original plan for tonight."

"Since when?" he asked, but focused on the way her hands were running slowly up and down the backs of his legs.

"Mmm." She leaned over and kissed the small sliver of skin visible between the open ends of his belt buckle. Han suppressed a shiver. She kept her lips close; he could feel her breath against his skin and the sensation was driving him crazy. "Since the moment you walked into my quarters, dressed like this, and made a rather large gesture on my behalf."

She kissed him again, and he gulped as she pressed the flat of her tongue against him. Goddamned woman had no fucking idea how beautiful she looked at the moment. "Doesn't sound like something I'd do," he managed, still playing the game though they both knew he'd lost long ago. "You sure it was me?"

Leia blinked up at him, then grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Her eyes looked enormous. "It sounds _exactly_ like something you'd do," she whispered.

Leia reached between the enclosures of his pants and, with a light grip, pulled him free. He could feel her fingers underneath him, just flashes of touch, barely there, and he forced himself not to close his eyes. He'd learned awhile ago not to miss this sight. She pressed her palm to the underside of his shaft and slowly closed her hand around the base. And then, because Leia Organa had some sort of voice in her head that told her how to end him, she looked up at him with those incredible eyes of hers, pursed her lips and kissed him softly, barely, on the very tip.

Han gave up. She just _wrecked_ him. Constantly, without knowing _how_ she was doing it. He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. "Leia," he whispered, and reached down to hold the back of her head. Her hair brushed across the callouses on his palms, strands running through his fingers.

She opened her lips and Han was suddenly consumed with heat, a wet, burning heat that felt like it would turn him to ash. He dropped his head back, swallowing against his suddenly shallow breaths. He could feel Leia's other hand sliding the pants from his hips and down his legs. And then her hands were on him, pulling him toward her, and he groaned, overwhelmed.

Han tried to focus on something other than the warm, slick feel of her mouth. He knew it was hopeless. Nothing he could do would be enough of a distraction and he'd been pushed too far already tonight. His skin felt thin; _he_ felt defenseless. There was a reason he should be paying attention to the outside world but his brain was on overload.

Leia hummed and his nerves crackled, energy spider-webbing throughout his body. He thought he said her name out loud but wasn't entirely sure. He'd left his brain somewhere in the early part of the evening, before he'd come to her quarters. He couldn't even quite remember how they'd gotten here, to this room. The only thing he knew for a fact was that Leia was trying to kill him, taking her time, rolling her tongue, sucking with exquisite power. He dropped his head forward and forced his eyes open. He needed to focus on something else before he tumbled over into a disappointing ending to the evening.

Unfortunately the visual stimulus wasn't any less of a trigger. He could see the crown of her head bent over him. He could see her hands gripping his hips. Her head began to move, just slightly, a soft rhythm that Han felt across his already blistering skin. He could feel her tongue press against him, underneath him. Somewhere in the room his low groans were echoing off the walls. " _Fuck,_ Leia," he heard, and that was the sum total of his vocabulary.

 _Fuck, Leia. God, Leia._

With the last coherent thought in his head, he pressed his fingers into her cheekbone. He was trying to signal her to stop before he came but he was not completely sure _why_. The details had escaped him. He heard his voice but the sounds didn't make much sense to him. He pressed against her cheekbone again and tried to speak. In Basic, if he could swing it. "Leia, stop," he panted. "Stop."

She slid her mouth off him and swept her hands down the outsides of his legs, looking at him with confusion. "Why?"

 _Why?_ He almost laughed. Without the maddening heat of her mouth, the world was starting to make sense again. His heart was pounding and his cock throbbed, but at least he could remember the pertinent fact that had escaped him before. "Because you're shoving me over the finish line here and I have a lot more I want to do with you."

She tilted her head to the side. " _You_ want," she said, running a finger up the side of his cock.

He resisted the urge to whimper. "Yeah," he said, and moved his hand from her cheek to tap her bottom lip with his index finger. " _I_ want _._ "

She nipped at his finger and stood, her hand wrapping around his base and squeezing tightly. He swore under his breath and leaned into her hand. "Well, General," she said. "What exactly do you want?"

He grinned, still a little shaky on that point himself, but all sorts of ready to find out. "Get on the fucking bed, Leia."

She arched an eyebrow at him and turned around. "Sure," she said. "But I think you're forgetting something rather important." Without another word, she lifted her arms and gathered her hair in both hands, waiting.

 _She wants to be unwrapped,_ he thought. _Like a present._ He reached for the clasp at the back of her neck, fingering the metal and watching the play of her shoulder blades as she shifted closer to him. She bowed her head; one lock of hair slipped between her hands and brushing against the back of his hand. He stepped closer still, his hips pressing into her lower back, then leaned over to softly kiss her ear. " _I love you,"_ he whispered as he pulled the clasp apart and watched the midnight blue of her dress drop to the floor.

He took a moment to appreciate the incredible line of black lace sitting low on her hips. Expensive. Probably a well-hidden secret, something she'd picked up on one of her diplomatic trips. _Foresight in spades,_ Han thought with a small smile. He ducked his head to kiss her shoulder and fingered the seam of the lace at her hipbones. "Move," he said and opened his hands to lift her to the bed, kneeling, her back still facing him.

The bed was tall enough that kneeling on it gave Leia more height than she had on her own. Her hips were a little higher than his, the top of her head even with his lips. She planted her knees, straightened her torso and grabbed one of his hands, pulling it to wrap around her waist, her back flush with his front. She tilted her head to the side in open invitation and he bent his neck to kiss her shoulder again.

"This is nice," he murmured against her skin. "You should be taller more often."

She laughed. "Would if I could, Flyboy," she said. "Some girls have all the luck."

"It's true." He slid his mouth to her collarbone and moved his other arm around her waist. "Must be murder on your neck, kissing that general of yours."

He said it on purpose and she caught the reference quickly. If she was his princess, he was absolutely her general. "That _general of mine_ is usually good at making it worth my while."

"Really," he said, not a question, and moved one of his hands to the skin just above the lace. She sucked in a breath as he ran a line across the top, then slipped his fingers inside.

"Yes, really," she said, her hand mirroring his over the fabric. She leaned the back of her head against his shoulder and pressed down against his fingers.

Han took the hint and grazed his fingertips across her stunningly wet warmth. She felt like silk, the evidence of her arousal so blissfully tactile that he wanted to just _fuck_ the foreplay and hurry things along. But he needed to make this good, he needed her to miss him like he would miss her, with every thought and memory he could plant in her brain.

So. He would take his time.

"Wet already," he murmured into her ear. "Can you tell me how that happened, Leia?"

She hummed and slid the heel of her palm against the top of his hand, trying to get him to deepen his touch. He resisted and kept his fingers soft and gentle.

When it became obvious she wasn't going to talk, he grinned and moved his lips to the other side of her head. "C'mon, Worship," he sing-songed. "Weren't you the one that lost our little game at dinner?"

Leia huffed and turned her head toward his mouth. "Don't be difficult."

He chuckled and dragged his teeth across her earlobe. "I ain't the one being difficult. _Talk._ "

She turned her head quickly and kissed his lips, her tongue sliding across his without hurry. He tightened his hold around her waist so she wouldn't pitch forward but didn't change his lackluster touch beneath the lace. He shifted further toward her and craned his neck to make the kiss a little more comfortable for her. He could feel the outside arch of her feet against the inside of his knees and her other hand came up to cradle the side of his head.

"Move your fingers," Leia said against his lips, "and I'll talk."

He was tempted, _so tempted,_ to point out that this addendum was not included in their earlier agreement, but he needed to get her talking by any means necessary. The whole point of his game at dinner was to get her to practice for his messages. It was a thought he'd had on the way to her quarters just after he'd successfully sent messages from the _Falcon_ to Chewie's personal comm without detection from the higher-ups in the fleet.

He was sure no one had read them. Crix and Jan would have given him hell for his blatant descriptions of their intensely romantic relationship. Untrue, as far as Han knew, but he honestly didn't give a fuck.

He figured Leia was kind of like a turbolaser: she need ammunition and power to fire. That, and she sometimes seemed embarrassed to admit she needed him in her life, even to him. Maybe _especially_ to him. The combination meant he needed her to practice.

"Alright," he agreed, and slid his index and middle fingers through the warmth of her sex, adding just a small amount of pressure. The friction felt unbelievable and he was having trouble staying focused. "What do _you_ want me to do?"

Leia gripped his hand through the lace. "More of that," she said.

"More of what?"

"Your fingers," she said. "When you go, leave your fingers. That's all I need from you."

He laughed outright. "That is an absolute lie, but I appreciate the sentiment." He turned his hand sideways as a reward, slipped two fingers inside her and nudged her clit with his thumb. She sighed and fluttered her eyelashes. "What else?"

She groaned, but he wasn't sure if it was his fingers or his persistence that triggered it. "Deeper," she said, and slid her hand beneath the lace. "Harder. This is too soft."

 _Now we're getting somewhere._ "What are you gonna do about it?"

She shifted her hips against their hands. He wasn't thrusting his fingers and the slow movement of his thumb had to be driving her crazy. "Take matters into my own hands," she said, tilting her chin up with regal superiority, though he could see the flush spread across her breasts in the dull lighting.

He kissed her temple, charmed by her defiant tone. "Uh-huh," he said, and slowly, _god,_ so slowly curled his fingers just enough to graze the inner wall that usually garnered a reaction from her.

" _Fuck,_ " she muttered and grabbed his wrist. "Please."

He did it again and lifted the hand around her waist to run his thumb against the underside of her right breast. She rolled her hips against his hand and repeated _please_ in his favorite breathy tone.

Han was becoming a little entranced despite himself. He cock throbbed, shoved up against her as she moved. She'd already worked him up into a frenzy with her mouth. The lingering effects of halting that play were building up all over again. He was starting to confuse the point of this slow burn and his endgame. Wasn't it his job to make this good for her? Why was he torturing her? Why the hell wasn't he inside her already?

Practice. Right.

"Han," she breathed. He curled his fingers against her again, pulled them back, then quickly pushed them against her. Her weight seemed to fall onto him and he laid his palm flat over her breast for support until he knew she was stable. He repeated the motion, slow draw back and quick, fleeting touch, nothing close to enough to make her come. Just enough to drive her insane.

"Solo, _fuck me_ ," he heard her say and he felt his heartbeat stutter in his chest. Her voice was raspy: deep, pure, unadulterated sin. _That_ was the voice he wanted from her in those messages. _That_ was what he needed from her now. Not the words, but the uncomplicated sexuality of Leia in bed, demanding pleasure from him. Nothing less than that would make leaving her worthwhile. Nothing less than that would be worth the small doubt in her eyes when he left tomorrow.

He ran his nose down the side of her face, leaned into her neck and gently nipped the skin of her throat, just beneath her jaw. "Your wish," he said and stepped back from her to quickly get rid of his open shirt, step out of the pants pooled around his feet and kick off his boots. She swiveled on her knees to face him, sitting on her heels and eyeing him with such heat that he had to breathe carefully for a moment, just staring at her.

"Come _here_ ," she whispered, a piece of hair falling into her eyes and her hand still sitting motionless under the lace.

He lunged to the bed. She fell to her back and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he climbed on top of her. Together they shimmied her out of the expensive lace. His skin burned where she touched him, her thighs against his, her breasts flush to his chest. He met her lips with bruising force, his hands framing her face. His hips met hers and the sensation was divine, perfect, ephemeral. He thrust against her, pulled away, then came back just to feel the heat again.

Leia moaned and extricated a hand from his shoulders to grip his cock. He lifted up from her momentarily, wrapped his hand around hers and then pushed inside her.

His brain lit on fire. His muscles spasmed. Finally, _finally,_ he was home, where he belonged, at the altar of all he worshipped. Han didn't believe in much, but this was belonging, this was religion. Like flying, but with _her._

Her breath rushed into his ear. He wrapped his hands around her back, fingers splayed over beautiful skin, and whispered her name. He couldn't see her face, he was firmly buried in her hair and neck, but he could feel her hand at the back of his head. He didn't want to leave her heat, so he made small circles against her hips and wedged a hand beneath her hip to keep her close. He just wanted her with him. Now that he was here, he didn't want to leave.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, and then listened as she breathed his name. He needed to calm down, he needed to get a handle on this sudden desperation of his. All this thought about him leaving was fucking with his brain. He was coming back. He _was_ coming back. Of course he was coming back.

He pressed his elbow into the mattress to lift his head and look at her. Leia's eyes were dark and intent, utterly focused on him as he swept a hand over the chaos of her hair on the bunk. She hummed and arched against him, trying to make him move his hips, to thrust, but he shook his head.

She made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. "I don't like this sudden patience of yours," she said.

He rested his weight on his forearms on either side of her head and tried to grin. "Just trying to be memorable," he said.

"You've never had to try to be memorable."

His smile was more genuine now. He dug his knee into the mattress beneath her and rolled to his back, his hands on her hips as they switched places. Her eyes flashed and she tilted her head as she readjusted to her new position. She tossed her hair out of her way and slid her hands to either side of his waist. "Fine," he said. "Have at it, Princess."

"Gladly," she said, and began a nice, sustainable rhythm with her hips. Han's smile broadened, watching the play of her skin in the light, the movement of her breasts, the intensity in the set of her mouth.

He pressed his feet into the bed and began a teasing counter-rhythm, lifting his hips as she came down. This wasn't necessarily his game, but it looked like it was definitely hers tonight, her head thrown back and a light sheen of sweat catching the light on her stomach. When he moved his hands up her thighs to rest on her hips, he could feel her pace quicken, tighten, smaller circles but deeper in drive. Leia braced her hands on his chest and their pressure felt like a countdown as she thrusted in her delicious circles. Sooner or later, her rhythm would cross that line where it pulled him under with her. Not a spectator sport, but some wild thing that consumed him, too.

It didn't take her long.

She was panting now, her hips picking up speed, driving harder. His nerves sparked, reinvigorated by the sight and feel of Leia taking charge. She lifted her hands from his chest, placed them on top of his and brushed them up her torso and onto the swell of her breasts. He loved that Leia had no compunctions about showing him what she needed, not anymore. He squeezed her softly at first, then pressed his palms under them and swept his thumbs over her nipples.

She released a harsh breath. She felt like a live wire, thrumming with power, unaware of the effect she was having on him and, by the looks of it, simply not concerned about it, either. He shook his head, dropped his hands to her knees and sat up to kiss her. He slid his tongue against hers and groaned, never losing track of their rhythm, addicted to the way she let him take control. Give and take, absolutely the thing that made them work.

He wrapped his arms around her and held the back of her head steady as she gasped. Then she pressed against his chest, bringing them skin to skin and picked up their pace. With one hand behind her head and the other gripping the back of her hip, he directed her movements, feeling strung out and hyperenergetic at the same time. He felt drugged. He felt like the world around him was shattering. He felt like his body was being pulled in multiple directions at once, the tension in not just one muscle _but in them all._ He was light and sensation and hard, animalistic want rolled into one blessed man wrapped up in his princess.

The room darkened or his brain flickered on - he wasn't sure which - but then he heard Leia begin to chant his name, an endless string of strained, nonsense words. She was close and he was barely hanging on, whispering: _sweetheart, come on, come on, come for me …_

She broke, her body freezing on top of his, her thighs shaking, her pants against his ear cut off as her head dropped to his shoulder and she keened into his skin. And he found his own razor sharp line and threw himself over it with the last two thrusts of his hips, deep, hard, _divine_. His muscles locked in a tight frame around her as the molten rush of climax washed over him, electrifying and absolute. His skin felt taut, brain exploding into a white-hot nebula cloud, oxygen-free, gravity-free.

With his last coherent thought he fell backwards and took Leia with him. For a moment he was simply able to observe but not react. He could see Leia's hair over his face, could feel her sprawled over him in a boneless heap. But he had no opinion for any of this. He couldn't _think,_ and that in itself was perfect. Just existing with Leia. Nothing else but being _with her._ That was what he wanted.

Slowly, reactions returned to him. He swept her hair out of his face, and pressed a kiss to her temple. His legs moved slower than the rest of him but eventually awareness returned to them, too.

By the time he began to feel cold, the sweat on his arms freezing in the Mon Cal climate-controlled cabin, Leia had shifted to his side. Without a word, he sat up and grabbed the top sheet and draped it over them both, then settled back down. Leia turned to her side and laid her head on the back of her hand. Her eyes looked suitably exhausted and her grin unholy in its satisfaction. He reached over and ran his hand down her arm.

Then, a shadow. "Six weeks," she said.

"Six weeks," he agreed.

She sighed and closed her eyes, turning onto her back. This was the critical moment, the only time he'd really be able to determine if he'd taken a step forward or not. Coming to her quarters, taking her to the dinner, playing nice, promising her filthy messages, tying their white-hot private relationship to their _very_ public careers … well. If he were better at words, he could have done this with much more finesse. As it was, he'd done everything he could think to do.

 _I'm coming back._

She opened her eyes and spent a moment watching the ceiling. Then she turned back onto her side and sidled up against him, slipping her legs through his. Her eyes were wide and he watched her make a decision. She sighed but then smiled softly and said with a deep, confident voice: "I give you two days before you begin sending me messages."

"Two days?" he said, his anxiety fading at her smile. A step forward, then. He couldn't help his answering smile. "Care to place a wager on that?"

She shook her head. "No, because you will purposefully hold out for three just to win the bet." Leia ducked her head so that his chin rested at her crown and ran her hand up his side to his shoulder blade. "I'm _telling_ you to message me in two days."

His chest tightened. Not a total victory, then, but he hadn't been expecting that. A step forward is all he'd really wanted. Slow and steady progress. He was, after all, in this for the long run. "You got it," he answered, and wrapped his arms around her. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "You got it."

* * *

 **Special thanks to HoldoutTrout, who kinda unknowingly contributed to this by our agreement that Han would be neither totally suave, nor totally embarrassing at a formal function, and to Erin Darroch, who pre-read the rough beginnings of this and made me feel like I wasn't (totally) crazy for writing it.**


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